by Ian Chapman
‘It’ll never need refuelling,’ said Casper. ‘You’re standing next one of the few nuclear powered tanks.’
‘Right.’ I nodded and smiled at this. Tried to seem impressed. For me nuclear meant weapons, or the sludge that lay across the west coast. It wasn’t something to trust or feel safe with. Becky and Casper loaded up and chatted about some setting they had to adjust. Something technical.
I stared at the back end of the Eblis, where the reactor had to be. It had lasted for decades. Survived all kinds of military tests, as well as what it went through in Faeston, so it was unlikely to just blow. That was what I told myself. But still there was some doubt about it.
Becky gave me a wave and shut the hatch.
I started the Scrambler. The valves chattered in the cold engine and I revved it up. As the Eblis whirred off I followed after it. Along the rough track through the trees.
When we joined the road, the Eblis shot off but it was too twisty a route for it to pick up much pace. We joined the B road and swung off to the right.
I kept an eye on my mirrors for Nico and co. Watched every movement, waiting to see when they appeared.
We bounced around for a couple of hours, the road hemmed in by thick woods, a light mist hanging over the trees. Midmorning we passed a carved stone at the roadside. Welcome to Scotland it said but it was adorned with animal skulls and bones. Spattered with dried mud and pitched at an angle where someone had tried to tip it over. We were in the northern reaches of the Border Forest now, the old plantations merged and spread out. Birch and pine trees had taken over, the ones that were fine with the unreliable weather. It all looked pretty on a sunny day but there were some nasty places round here. Rough villages where the locals had gone feral and killed their neighbour. Stuck them in a stew. I’d seen some of them first hand and didn’t want to again. So normally this was somewhere I’d avoid but normally I wasn’t travelling with an armoured vehicle.
There was no sign of anyone behind, in front of or to the side of us as we made our way along the track, the Scrambler’s motor blatting out. It was actually good to be on the road. It felt natural after all those years I’d spent in the wilds.
The Eblis swung off to the east. We cleared the trees in a few miles and came out onto moorland dotted with saplings and smaller patches of woods.
As we dipped into a valley we past a sign for a town. The original name had been crossed out, scraped off the metal and Pleasure Town painted in uneven lettering. I knew of the place but had steered clear in the past: it was too near the Border Forest. It had a reputation for being lively. Living up to its name.
As we came round a bend several high-pitched thuds came from undergrowth and pinged off the front of Eblis.
Gun fire. Someone was firing at us.
The tank stopped and I hauled the Scrambler up at the far side of it, sheltered from any further shooting. There were no more shots so I stuck my head up over the bulkhead. At the far side of the road there was a patch of stunted sycamores. Several of the branches moved and there were voices. A glimpse of an arm holding a rifle that lined up on the tank.
I ducked back down and there were several more shots. Silence. When I looked up this time something flew into the air, hard surfaced with a flame licking out of it. It sailed over towards us and thudded against the tank with a smash of glass and the smell of methylated spirt. The liquid caught light with a woof and flames rolled across the flank of the vehicle. The meths dripped into the vents at the rear end.
Then there was a rattle from the turret, several shots followed by a few more. They rippled through the undergrowth and one man staggered out and fell forward. Another cried out.
The gun stopped and there was no sound. Just the hiss of the burning meths.
Suddenly a figure burst from the trees. He had another Molotov Cocktail in his hand but before he could throw it the tank’s machine gun clattered again. He jerked up and flopped forward. Landed flat on the road where the bottle smashed and its contents flowed out.
He lay still in the pool of fire.
The tank’s turret popped open and Casper looked out. ‘You hit?’
‘No. I’m fine.’
He twisted round to look at the fellas he’d shot. ‘Morons, eh?’
‘Think we should move him?’ I pointed to the man in the road. The flames had now worked their way onto his coat which crackled as it burned. The road off to his right was ablaze as well.
‘You kidding?’ He looked round at the rear end of the tank. The fire had died down and left sooty marks across metal. He watched them the last few flames fade then he grunted and slid back in.
Clicks and whirrs came from the Eblis. A few seconds later it moved off. The tracks clattered as it picked up speed down the road. I was about to start the Scrambler but instead stepped off and went over to the burning body. I grabbed the arm that wasn’t alight then flipped him over and stamped out the flames on the road.
He lay smoking on the singed tarmac, a smallish fella in scruffy coat and threadbare trousers. I grasped his boots and hauled him over to the verge. He slid on his chest and face, arms stretched out and I pulled him in as far as he would go then got hold of his shoulders and rolled him into the bushes. The other two lay splayed further into the undergrowth. There was a pile of weapons beside them: assault rifles, shotguns and more Molotov Cocktails. They were probably the lookouts for the town. They townsfolk would eventually figure out they’d lost some people and get all jumpy. If we were stopping off we’d have to make it a short one.
A few branches were snapped from the tank’s shooting so I threw them over the bodies. Roughly covered them up.
With a last look at the dead men I went over to the Scrambler and started off.
There was no sign of the Eblis as I rode down the road. They’d had time to get well ahead. For a few seconds I pushed the bike on hard before easing off. If they’d gone they’d gone. I’d make my own plans.
But then I spotted the tank at the roadside.
Casper was out at the back. Flames licked up the rear of the vehicle. Black smoke billowed out. Becky was beside him holding something. She sprayed clouds of white gas onto the flames, smothering them. It was a fire extinguisher she held: it had been such a long time since I’d seen one I’d not recognised it.
The flames were gone but smoke still poured out.
I pulled up a few metres back and walked over.
She opened up a hatch on the tank’s flank and sprayed the extinguisher into the engine compartment. The smoke thinned and stopped.
‘What’s going on?’ I said.
‘What’s it look like?’ said Casper.
Becky leant into the hatch, poking around shaking her head. ‘Halon suppression system’s not working. Should have put this out…’ She muttered on like that for minutes as Casper hopped around.
I waited for the tank to blow itself apart. Or for someone to appear from the trees that edged the road, hawthorns that were split and lopsided, disappearing off around us. Perfect place for another attack.
Becky straightened up and held a cluster of melted wires. ‘Cooling fan circuit.’
‘Is it fixable?’ I said.
Casper grunted and Becky shrugged. There was a noise from the trees, a tapping.
‘We need to get moving. They were probably the town’s lookouts.’
‘Can’t go far,’ she said. ‘And dead slow.’
They climbed back into Eblis. Before Casper had even shut the hatch they moved off. I remounted the bike and followed as they crept along the road. Into Pleasure Town. The whole way I had my eyes on the roadside ready for another ambush. Some more fellas with guns and homemade weapons.
There was no one, just signs advertising the town’s attractions: the drinking horse, the burry king and hag racing. There were a few people on pavements but they staggered around, waved bottles. Looked drunk. Tarnished ribbons hung from broken lampposts and dying trees. The tank swung left onto a side road lined with semi-detached houses. They all had
driveways and front gardens but most were windowless, door-less and the gardens were overgrown, littered with debris from the stripped houses.
I stopped at the end. Maybe this was where I disappeared off. Left them to sort out their own problems. I tapped the tank on the bike. Sloshed the fuel around. It was getting low. Really low. There’d be juice here. I rode the bike up and joined the Eblis as it slid onto the drive of one of the derelict houses. It went up the side, through the empty shell of a garage, a skeleton of rusted spars that clattered down around it. It stopped on the lawn with the tracks rested on a rockery. I pulled across to the far side, behind a lopsided shed and gigantic buddleia.
I turned off the bike as Casper and Becky slid out.
The blank windows of the house looked down on us. There were sounds from way off, shouts and music. The place smelled of rotting vegetation. Blocked drains.
‘It needs to cool down,’ said Becky.
There was a crash from several streets away, cheers. Casper went to the fence and peered over.
‘So, can you fix it?’ I said.
She shook her head. ‘Not without parts. Wire to fix up the cooling circuit.’ The tank made whirring noises. A couple of clicks. ‘We might be able to get something in town. Might as well have a stop off. While it cools down.’
‘We shouldn’t hang around. Not after shooting the lookouts.’
Casper kicked the tank’s tracks. ‘How would they know it was us?’
That was true. Without the tank we didn’t look dangerous. Pleasure Town was known for its transient population. Lots of people passed through. ‘I’ll leave the bike here as well.’ It wasn’t always wise to ride around towns like this. People took a liking to your bike and wanted it. I’d walk around, find the fuel station if there was one. Ride straight in later on. Leave.
I popped the bike’s battery out and grabbed my bag. The battery wedged in with my spare clothes and the shotgun and Gehenna stuff. My little secret.
There was a distant cheer.
‘Sounds fun,’ said Casper.
‘Remember you shot a couple of the locals,’ I said.
‘Come on,’ said Becky. ‘Let’s get going.’
We left the vehicles and walked into Pleasure Town.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Stop Off
THERE WERE DRUNKS EVERYWHERE on the way into town: men and women in the road, couples lying on the overgrown verges, having sex, sleeping, fighting.
The town hadn’t been somewhere I’d come to when I was couriering, so all I knew about it were the stories. Leery tales of drink and fights, the kind of gossip other drivers rolled out, too exaggerated to take seriously. Or maybe it was all true.
‘Pleasure Town tries to live up to its name,’ said Becky.
‘You know the place?’ I said.
‘A little.’
We passed a young woman, all smart, in a tight dress that showed plenty of flesh. She looked up at me as we walked by. Her hair was blond with a little curl. Her face soft skinned. It was like seeing Sophie again. She smiled at me and I turned away, carried on walking alongside Becky, Casper marching off ahead.
We came to a row of smart houses, ancient Victorian places with front yards and big windows. Tidy looking. At the end was a workshop, the door open and men repairing a cart. One held it steady on jacks while two others hammered a wheel on.
Becky went up to the fella doing the steadying, asking him something. He shook his head and pointed down the road. Casper watched the party people as they staggered around. Drank and laughed. Even he had a smile on his face.
She returned and we walked on. ‘He says there a workshop just off the marketplace. Reckons they might have some wires.’
‘Maybe we can get a drink?’ Casper turned to me. ‘You fancy a beer?’
‘Yeah.’ I did but not with him. I’d rather he shoved off to find the parts so I could spend some time on my own. Or with Becky.
‘Feel like celebrating a little. We’ve outrun those morons from Faeston.’
‘Have you forgotten that the tank needs fixing?’ said Becky.
‘You’ll sort that, Becks. No worries.’
‘Well, we’ll see. I hope so.’
We came to the town centre with a marketplace surrounded by old buildings. They all seemed to be pubs. There were tables set on the pavements and drinkers sat at them or stood around. In the middle there was some kind of a fight going on. Men rolled around the ground clawing at an object the size of a football but misshapen and ripped. There were a few thugs at the far end with pick axe handles. One rifle between them: Pleasure Town’s equivalent to Round Up, no doubt. But they didn’t seem bothered by it all. Spectators laughed and drank from earthenware cups.
‘It’s the town ball,’ said Becky. ‘They fight over it.’
‘Town ball?’ I said.
‘A football that once belonged to someone famous, I think. Whoever gets to hold it at sunset wins, or something…’ Tapping Casper on the shoulder she pointed towards the left-hand side of the marketplace. ‘I need to find the workshop. Meet you back here. You two enjoy the game.’ With that she walked off.
Me and Casper stood there as the men fought over the ball. People watching laughed as a lad got kicked in the head and went reeling off.
Some town. Still there were plenty of bars all stocked with booze by the look of things.
‘Ready for that drink?’ I said. Maybe a couple of drinks was what Casper needed. Loosen him up a bit.
‘I reckon.’
We shoved our way past the drunks and made our way into the nearest pub. A rough sign said Biffa’s Bar.
The interior was decorated with old CDs. Cracked and scratched ones stuck on the wall with nails. The plastic surfaces caught the light and bounced it round the room, onto the bare floorboards and the faces of the men who stood there drinking. There were a few women but they huddled together over at the far side. The place smelled of sweat and stale booze. I ordered a whisky and Casper nodded when I looked over at him so I made it two.
After we’d been served we stood and drank. We were given ceramic tumblers, not glasses. We didn’t talk. Outside there were shouts and cheers. No one took any notice of us.
We finished our whiskies. ‘Another?’ I said. Casper nodded and called the barman over, ordering two more.
There was a cheer from the marketplace.
The drinks arrived. Casper held his tumbler, stared into it.
At the other side of the room there was movement as two men manhandled a wooden cupboard out of a side room. They shifted it against the far wall and opened the doors. It was an old TV set and DVD player. Wires ran down to a couple of car batteries which themselves were connected to a lead that ran out of the room. Flickering on the screen was a football stadium. We watched as the game started and the players ran around, the image locking up then breaking before resuming. The men clustered round the TV and cheered at the ancient game.
‘I don’t get football,’ said Casper.
‘Yeah?’ I wasn’t a fan myself. But I didn’t want some big discussion on it. Not with him.
Heads turned away from the TV set for a moment. A woman had come into the room. She was in her thirties with a good body, wearing a light dress. Her hair was long, blond. It was the woman I’d seen earlier on the way into town. She smiled at Casper. At me, as she approached the bar. She stood at the far end away from the TV set.
‘She’s a looker,’ said Casper.
‘She’s not bad.’
She moved with a confidence in how she looked, the dress short enough to show smooth, tanned legs; low enough to show plenty of cleavage. She wasn’t at all like Sophie and was out of place with the other women in here: big-handed country types.
The barman went over to her, smiled asked her how she was. She flashed a grin at him then jerked her thumb towards us. He shook his head and went off to get her a drink. Then she came over to me and Casper, one foot in front of the other, a wiggle in her stride to make her body move
in the right way.
‘Mind if I join you?’ she said.
‘Fine by me,’ said Casper.
I said nothing but looker her up and down. From her blond hair to tanned ankles, taking in everything in-between.
She smiled. ‘I’m Maddy.’
‘I’m Casper,’ said Casper. He pointed at me. ‘This is Trent.’
She glanced over at Casper, at the bruises on his face, then back at me. ‘You not from town?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘We’re on a trip.’
She undid the top button on her dress, pulled the material to let air into it. Her drink arrived, something dark. It was in a glass not like the earthenware beakers we got. She paid and sniffed it before taking a sip. ‘I always fancied taking a trip.’
I finished my drink and pushed it across the bar then raised my hand to the barman.
Casper leant over to me. ‘You having another?’
I shrugged. ‘One more won’t hurt.’
Maddy smiled. ‘Are you two brothers?’
Casper shook his head and I ordered a whisky and drank it fast. He chatted to Maddy, asked her what she did and sat close while she told him about the shop she worked in. Even though they were side by side her eyes were on me and mine were on her. She moved around, tilting her head back and running her hands across her skin. Maybe it was partially the booze but she really was something.
As he ran out of things to say to her Casper watched the football on the TV and cradled his drink.
Maddy leant over and put her hand on my arm. ‘What do you make of the town?’
Outside the scrum still rolled around the marketplace. ‘Quite lively,’ I said.
She raised her eyebrows and smiled. ‘Oh, it’s that all right.’
‘We need to look out for Becky,’ said Casper, eyeballing me.
‘Who’s Becky?’ said Maddy.
‘She’s with him,’ I said.
‘I see.’ She smiled at this.
‘We have to get going,’ said Casper.
Maddy looked at me, ‘Sounds like big brother wants to move you on.’
‘We’re not brothers.’
I didn’t move and she raised an eyebrow, finished her drink.